The Hidden Hero

“Robe me,” Lord Voldemort commanded his moaning servant. Wormtail hastened to obey, picking up the robes and draping them over the newly risen dark wizard.

Lord Voldemort ran his hands lovingly down his new body, reveling in his corporeal form. When his hand touched his wand, he stopped and slowly placed his hand inside the robe pocket and gently withdrew the wand. He gazed at it reverently. Then, he raised his eyes to Harry and smirked in triumph.

“I have arisen, Mark Twist. Delayed, it is true, by your actions in preventing me from possessing the Sorcerer’s Stone. But, I am back now. Back, and ready to reclaim my natural right as the master of this world.”

With a flick of his wand, he summoned Wormtail to him. The crying, moaning man floated a few feet above the air until he dangled limply in front of the other wizard. Voldemort pulled up the sleeve of Wormtail’s robe and looked at the Dark Mark burning on the man’s arm. “It is back,” he said softly, “they will all have noticed it…and now, we shall see…now we shall know…” He pressed a finger to the mark and Wormtail cried out in pain. Behind his gag, Harry cried out too as his scar gave another throb of pain.

Soon, the graveyard was full of apparating wizards who had responded to Voldemort’s summons. The masked figures appeared unable to believe their eyes as they saw the Dark Lord, returned after an absence of thirteen years. One by one, the Death Eaters fell to their knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes, obsequiously calling him “Master.”

As Voldemort greeted his followers, chastising them for not having done more to look for him during his years in exile, Harry leaned his head back against the headstone and tried to calm his thoughts. Here was the day he had been expecting since Aunt Petunia had told him four years ago that he had been born to defeat a psychopathic wizard terrorizing the wizarding world. His mother had boasted that he was a hero. Today was obviously the day when he would have to defeat Voldemort. Right?

But, Harry didn’t believe himself. Who was he kidding? There was no way he could defeat Voldemort. There was Cedric’s lifeless body, bearing mute testament to the ruthless efficiency with which Voldemort dealt with anyone who stood in his way. Just a few steps away, Voldemort was effortlessly conjuring a silver hand to replace Wormtail’s missing limb. Surrounded by his Death Eaters, Voldemort looked like the Prince of Darkness. How was he, a fourteen year old boy, going to defeat him?

In a dull fog, Harry watched as Voldemort continued to berate his followers, performing the cruciatus curse on a few in punishment for their failure to be more loyal during his time of need. Harry recognized Lucius Malfoy among the Death Eaters.

Voldemort reached a gap in the circle of his Death Eaters. Harry’s eyes widened when Voldemort said, of one of his missing followers, “He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived tonight…”

Harry felt as if the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. Here was the danger he had feared from the moment his name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire. A Death Eater had obviously put his name into the Goblet and set in motion the events that had led Harry to this graveyard now, tied to a headstone, waiting for Voldemort to kill him. Was it Snape? Karkaroff? Barty Crouch Sr.? Someone else?

The Death Eaters all stared at Harry and Voldemort continued. “Yes, Mark Twist has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor.” As if sensing the tension in the air, the snake slithered fretfully around the base of the headstone where Harry was tied. Voldemort strode over to stand next to Harry so that, when he spoke, the eyes of the Death Eaters were on both of them.

“You all know that, on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill Harry Potter. His mother died in the attempt to save him – and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy. His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice…this is old magic, I should have remembered it. I was foolish to overlook it. I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon me.”

Harry held completely still, only his eyes moved as they followed Voldemort’s every move. As frightened as he was, Harry could not help but be transfixed by Voldemort’s story. He was learning, for the first time, that his mother had sacrificed herself for him. Hearing this confirmation of her love for him brought a strange mix of pleasure and pain.

Voldemort continued. “Aaah…pain beyond pain my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost…but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know. I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal…to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked…for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it.”

Harry listened, mesmerized, as Voldemort described his exile in the forests of Albania, waiting for his followers to come to his rescue. Then, Voldemort described his elation at finding a wizard who he could possess and use to try to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. “I was thwarted,” Voldemort hissed. “Thwarted by this mudblood, Mark Twist!”

Voldemort stopped in his story and stared menacingly at Harry. For a minute, Harry thought that the other wizard would kill him right then. Harry felt bile rise up behind his tongue and burn his throat. But, Voldemort continued pacing and picked up his story once again.

“Somehow, through accidental magic I suspect, this boy was able to generate a protective shield around himself. My host’s body burned when it touched him and I had to flee that body to save myself. I was left incorporeal again, as weak as ever I had been.”

Voldemort explained how Wormtail had returned to his service, finally presenting the Dark Lord with the chance he needed to regain his body. When a witch from the Ministry of Magic, Bertha Jorkins, had wandered across their path, Voldemort had learned that the Triwizard Tournament was to be held at Hogwarts this year. Voldemort had also broken through the Memory Charms that had been placed on Bertha to learn that she knew of a Death Eater, loyal to Voldemort, who would be eager to help the Dark Lord. Voldemort had killed Bertha once she was no longer useful to him.

Coming to more current events, Voldemort explained, “To restore my body and my strength, I knew an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight. Wormtail provided one of the ingredients: flesh given by a servant. My father’s bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. The last ingredient needed was the blood of a foe.

“I wanted Harry Potter’s blood but the boy is missing. Perhaps dead, since all of the efforts of the Ministry and that old fool Dumbledore have not been able to locate him. Now that I am back, I will look for him as well. If he is not already dead, he soon will be. But, in his absence, whose blood should I use?

“Wormtail would have had me use any wizard who hated me, as so many of them still do. But, if I could not have Harry Potter, I wanted Mark Twist. This boy, the same age as Harry Potter, who so ill-advisedly interfered with my plans. This mudblood who set himself against me and delayed my return to corporeal form.”

Standing in front of Harry, Voldemort stared at the boy. Lowering his voice, so that the Death Eaters had to strain to hear him, Voldemort continued his explanation. “I could not discover where he lived; I had to capture him while he was at Hogwarts. How to do this? Why…by using Bertha Jorkins’ information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the Tournament – that he touched the Triwizard Cup first – the Cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore’s help and protection, and into my waiting arms.”

Raising his arm lazily, Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry and said, “Crucio!”

Harry jerked madly behind his bonds. The pain was unbearable. It felt as if every bone in his body were on fire. He prayed for it to end. Voldemort raised his wand, lifting the curse and, as suddenly as the pain had started, it ended.

Behind his gag, Harry panted and he hung limply, held up by the ropes that bound him to the headstone. Death Eaters were laughing and calling out, “Mudblood,” and “Kill him, Master.”

Voldemort smiled evilly. “Oh, I intend to kill him. But, I’ll give him a sporting chance, of course.” The Death Eaters laughed, although they didn’t understand what Voldemort meant. “Untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand.”

Through the fog of pain, Harry struggled to understand what was happening. He had expected Voldemort to cast the killing curse at him at any second. Instead, Wormtail was untying him and forcing his wand back into his hand. Reflexively, he tightened his grip on the wand, and tried to control his staggering when the ropes supporting him were removed.

“You have been taught how to duel, Mark Twist? We bow to each other,” taunted Voldemort.

Harry said nothing. Voldemort might kill him, but he wasn’t going to play the older wizard’s sick games beforehand. Harry forced himself to stand as tall as possible and cast a defiant glance at Voldemort.

“I said bow.” Voldemort raised his wand and forced Harry to bow. “Very good,” approved Voldemort. “And now, we duel.”

Harry desperately tried to think of a spell. He had spent years studying to prepare for this moment. Yet, it was as if his brain had decided to betray him. He couldn’t seem to recall any spell except “Expelliarmus,” the spell Professor Snape had used against Professor Lockhart years ago in the one and only wizard duel Harry had ever witnessed.

Before Harry could even raise his wand, Voldemort had hit him with another Cruciatus curse. The young boy writhed on the ground in excruciating pain. When it stopped, Harry’s throat felt raw from his screams. He staggered to his feet and stumbled into the circle of the watching Death Eaters. He was roughly pushed back into the middle of the circle, to face Voldemort again.

Voldemort was clearly enjoying the game. “That hurt, didn’t it, Mark? You don’t want me to do that again, do you? Answer me! Imperio!”

Harry shrugged off the curse, and answered back, “No!” Throwing off the curse gave Harry a boost of confidence. Facing Voldemort, he called out, “You’re a sick bast*rd! Some big man you are! Fighting a fourteen year old with a score of Death Eaters standing by to help you if you can’t manage it on your own. You’re pathetic!”

Eyes widening in fury, Voldemort thrust his wand in front of him and howled, “Avada Kedavra!”

Simultaneously, Harry yelled, “Expelliarmus!”

The red light from Harry’s wand collided in mid-air with the green light issuing from Voldemort’s wand. The light beams connected and turned a bright, deep gold. The strange connection lifted the two astonished wizards into the air and placed them a short distance away, where the Death Eaters surrounded them once again.

The beams splintered and formed a web of light around Harry and Voldemort, placing them in a protective bubble that the Death Eaters could not penetrate. “Do nothing!” shouted Voldemort. Harry could see that the older wizard was astonished and frightened by what was happening.

Suddenly, beautiful, haunting music seemed to emanate from the light beams. Harry recognized the mystical sound – it was phoenix song. The music filled him with hope and gave him the strength to maintain the connection between the wands.

It seemed as if the wands were engaged in a battle of light. At first, a large bead of light seemed to be forcing itself closer to Harry’s wand tip. However, Harry focused every bit of strength he had and slowly forced the bead back toward Voldemort’s wand. Harry wasn’t even sure why it was so important that he win this battle.

After what seemed a lifetime, but may have only been minutes, the bead touched Voldemort’s wand tip. Immediately, the echoes of previous spells erupted from the wand: screams, the shadow of the silver hand crafted for Wormtail, more shouts and, finally, a vaporlike image of Cedric Diggory.

Harry almost dropped his wand in shock. Voldemort’s eyes widened in fright and his mouth was slightly open in a silent yell. “Hold on, Mark,” encouraged Cedric.

Nodding his understanding, Harry tightened his grip on the wand. Soon, more screams and then the vaporlike image of the old man Harry had seen Voldemort kill in his vision during the summer. This was followed shortly by another ghostlike figure; this time, a middle-age witch, who Harry suspected was Bertha Jorkins. They both spoke encouragingly to Harry, urging him not to let go.

And, then, another shadowy figure emerged from Voldemort’s wand. Harry’s mother. It took all of Harry’s strength not to drop his wand and go running to her for protection, for comfort, for love. His eyes looked at her hungrily. She was so pretty, with her long red hair and bright green eyes. She was so young!

“It will be all right…hold on…” she encouraged. “You’re doing a great job.”

Another body joined the growing crowd of shadow figures. A tall, handsome man stood protectively next to Lilly. He had glasses and dark, untidy hair that Harry remembered he had used to have himself, before he had changed his appearance. His father. James Potter.

Harry felt a funny flip in his heart. His parents were standing feet away from him and they didn’t know who he was! He wanted desperately to talk with them, call them mother and father, hear them call him Harry. Instead, he was in a battle of life and death with a raving lunatic and wondering whether he had lost his mind to be seeing these shadows.

James came close and whispered in Harry’s ear. “When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments… but, we will give you time. You must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry gasped.

“Mark,” whispered Cedric. “Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents?”

“I will,” Harry vowed.

“Do it now. Be ready to run,” urged James Potter.

“Now!” shouted Harry and he broke the connection between his wand and Voldemort’s. The protective bubble of light disappeared. The ghostlike figures remained, circling Voldemort and hissing at him.

Harry ran as fast as he could, trying to ignore the pain in his leg.

“Stun him!” Voldemort yelled.

Harry dove behind a headstone in order to avoid the spells being cast at him by the pursuing Death Eaters. Seeing Cedric a few feet away, Harry left the protection of the headstone and dove for the body. He lay flat on the ground, holding on to Cedric’s arm.

“Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!” shouted Voldemort. He smirked as he saw that Harry had no protection. He raised his wand.

Pointing his own wand at the Triwizard Cup, Harry yelled, “Accio!” The Cup flew toward him and Harry caught it by the handle.

As the Portkey whisked him away, bearing his tragic burden, Harry heard Voldemort’s scream of fury.

*

Harry was, once again, thrown into a maelstrom of wind and color. When the spinning stopped abruptly, he slammed into the ground. He released the Portkey, which rolled a short distance away, and grabbed hold of the grass beneath him instead. His other hand clutched Cedric’s arm. He kept his eyes tightly closed.

He heard yells and screams from the crowd and then hands grabbed him and turned him over, and Harry’s hand fell away from Cedric’s body. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see the headmaster gazing down at him in concern. “Mark,” the older wizard called, urgently. “Mark, are you all right?”

Harry looked into Professor Dumbledore’s eyes and said weakly, “He’s back. Voldemort’s back.” Saying the words caused his stomach to burn, as if he had swallowed poison. This was his fault. He was supposed to defeat Voldemort. He had failed and, instead, Cedric was dead and Voldemort was returned to power.

“What?!” asked Dumbledore in shock.

Harry repeated. “Voldemort. He is reborn.”

Dumbledore stared at the boy blankly. Before he could gather his thoughts, the Minister of Magic appeared. Cornelius Fudge had been among the audience, visiting the headmaster and watching the last task in the Tournament. “Dumbledore! Diggory – he’s dead!” All around him, Harry heard people start to realize this. The words were repeated from one wizard to another. Some said it in low tones, still in shock. Others yelled it. “He’s dead! Cedric Diggory! Dead!” Girls were starting to sob hysterically.

Dumbledore rose heavily to his feet. “Take Mark to the hospital wing, Alastor. Minister, you and I must talk to Diggory’s parents.”

Harry turned to Professor Moody, who helped the boy gain his feet. Harry was grateful for Moody’s support, as he didn’t think he could stand without it. Harry tried to avoid looking at the students watching him from the stands. As Moody helped the boy make his way slowly from the stadium, Harry heard a low muttering start to gain strength. “He killed Diggory! Just like Rita Skeeter warned! Mudblood! Murderer!”

Harry stopped and started to turn back to face the crowd. “No!” he gasped. He couldn’t believe that they would think that of him!

Moody forced the boy to continue walking. “Never mind, Twist. They’re just in shock. Don’t worry about them. You need medical attention before anything else. Tell me what happened.”

As they made their way to the castle, Harry explained. He found it hard to keep his thoughts from becoming disjointed. “The Cup acted as a Portkey and took Cedric and me to Voldemort. He killed Cedric and then used my blood to be reborn.”

It sounded unbelievable when said bluntly. But, thankfully Moody seemed to accept what he said at face value. They had reached Moody’s office and Harry sank into a chair. The boy did not wonder why they hadn’t gone to the hospital wing. Moody muttered an incantation and the pain in Harry’s leg went away. Drawing a pain-free breath, Harry murmured a grateful, “Thanks!” When pressed, he drank a glass of foul-tasting potion. It helped clear away some of the fog in his head.

“The Dark Lord is back? You’re sure he’s back?” Moody asked eagerly.

“Yes, sir. Voldemort performed a spell that restored his body.” Harry felt like crying; he held himself stiffly in his chair, struggling to maintain control over his emotions.

“And the Death Eaters? They returned?” asked Moody.
“Yes, loads of them,” confirmed Harry.

“How did he treat them? Did he forgive them?”

This question suddenly reminded Harry of what Voldemort had said. He jumped up from the chair and said urgently, “There’s a Death Eater here at Hogwarts! He put my name into the Goblet of Fire!”

“Yes, I know,” said Moody. And, without warning, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

“What are you doing?” asked Harry, in puzzlement. He was too surprised to be alarmed.

“I put your name in the Cup. The Dark Lord wanted to kill you. I believe that he will be happy if I do it for him. But, I don’t want to take away that pleasure from him, if he wants to do it himself. Instead, I have another idea that he may find more…interesting.” Moody’s mouth twisted in an unfamiliar smirk. “Many of the students seem to think that you killed Diggory. Enjoy Azkaban, Twist. Stupefy!”

There was a flash of red light and Harry was hit in the chest by the stunning spell. He fell to the floor, unconscious. Smiling in anticipation, Moody quickly pulled Harry’s wand from the boy’s hand. Using his own wand, Moody unlocked a large trunk in the corner. It opened to reveal a deep pit, where an emaciated, unkempt man was lying. The real Mad-Eye Moody.

Harry, laying unconscious, didn’t see the effects of the Polyjuice Potion wear off the man he had known all year as Moody, exposing the imposter, Barty Crouch, Jr. With a wave of his wand, Crouch summoned the sleeping Moody from the depths of the trunk. He lowered the wizard onto the floor, where the sick man stirred weakly. Crouch studied Moody dispassionately. With a flick of his wand, Crouch returned the magical eye and wooden leg to their true owner. Then, muttering various spells, within a few minutes, he transformed the Moody lying on the floor to look exactly like the Moody who had left the stadium with Mark Twist a short while ago.

Lifting the wand that he had taken from the unconscious boy, Crouch laughed softly as he pointed the wand at the still-sleeping Moody. “Avada Kedavra!” he said, gleefully. A flash of green light sped through the air and hit the ex-Auror squarely. Silence reigned for a brief moment as Moody’s restless movements ceased abruptly.

Crouch carefully placed Harry’s wand back in the boy’s hand. Then, taking a last look around to make sure that he had set the stage appropriately, Crouch tapped himself on the head with his own wand. Satisfied that he was invisible, he opened the door and checked that the corridor was clear. He quickly strode out of the room, through the castle, and onto the Hogwarts grounds.

As Barry Crouch Jr. was making his way to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds so that he could apparate away, and rejoin Voldemort, Harry was slowly waking. He gave his head a little shake and stood up shakily. All at once memory returned. He tightened his grip on his wand and held it out in front of him in a defensive stance. He looked around wildly for Professor Moody. He didn’t understand what was going on. Why had Moody attacked him?

Harry’s eyes fell on the dead body lying on the floor. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Slowly, he approached the body. Was this a trick? Was Moody pretending to be dead? If not, who had killed him?

Just then, the door of the office burst open. Instinctively, Harry raised his wand and prepared to battle whoever was there.

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Dumbledore. Harry’s wand flew out of his hand and the headmaster caught it. Professors Snape and McGonagall were on either side of the headmaster. The Minister followed on their heels.

Everyone looked around, taking in the scene at a glance. Professor Moody lay dead on the floor and Mark Twist was standing over the body. Shocked eyes stared at the boy.

Realizing what they were thinking, Harry shook his head vehemently. “No!” he said. “I didn’t kill him! He tried to kill me! I don’t know why! He said he had put my name in the Cup and that he would kill me for Voldemort.” Harry hesitated. Then, remembering, said, “No. That’s not right. He said that he’d do something else that Voldemort would like more. He said I’d be blamed for Cedric’s death and I’d go to Azkaban.” There was a beat of silence. “I didn’t kill Cedric!” Harry’s voice rose shrilly. He could hear himself start to sound hysterical.

Dumbledore obviously thought so because, although his eyes were hard and cold, he spoke quietly, trying to calm the boy. “So, you killed Professor Moody because you thought he was trying to kill you?”

“No!” yelled Harry. “I didn’t kill him. He stunned me and, when I woke up, he was dead. I don’t know how or who killed him. I didn’t kill him! I swear! This must be some plot of Voldemort’s.”

The Minister flinched at the sound of Voldemort’s name and spoke up. “There is no plot by You Know Who. You killed Diggory and then Moody. It’s obvious: you wanted to win the Triwizard Cup and you killed Diggory when he got there before you. Then, Moody must have found out the truth somehow. Maybe he finally figured out how you were able to trick the Triwizard Cup into naming you champion. You killed him to protect your secret.”

“That’s not true! I saw Voldemort reborn, I tell you. Voldemort killed Cedric! I wouldn’t have hurt Cedric, I swear. I wouldn’t hurt anyone! Please. You’ve got to believe me.” Harry looked from one adult to the next, desperately seeking some friendly face.

Fudge clearly didn’t believe a word Harry said. It was difficult to tell with Professor Snape, who regarded Harry with narrowed, considering eyes. Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to be ill. Finally, Harry looked at Dumbledore and begged him with his eyes. Silently, Harry thought, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll forgive you for leaving me with the Dursleys if you just believe me now and help me. Please help me!”

Dumbledore stared at Harry without saying a word for a long moment. Then, he touched his wand tip to Harry’s wand. “Priori Incantato!”

As Voldemort’s wand had done such a short time before, Harry’s wand started to regurgitate a shadow of the spells it had performed, in reverse chronological order. A flash a green light filled the room. McGonagall gasped aloud. Harry’s mouth dropped open. Dumbledore’s jaw clenched and he seemed to turn paler. Harry’s wand belched out a few flashes of light indicative of stunning spells and the impedimenta jinx. Finally, after the group saw a flash of light signaling the use of the expelliarmus spell, Dumbledore lifted his wand and Harry’s wand fell silent.

Harry raised stunned eyes to the headmaster. Dumbledore looked back at him coldly. “It would appear, Mark, that you did indeed kill Professor Moody. Did you kill Cedric, too?”

“No,” moaned Harry. He was no longer shouting. His denial was low and distraught.

Fudge snorted. “It’s clear. He took Diggory’s wand. You saw the expelliarmus spell. He probably used Diggory’s own wand to kill him. Twist thought he’d get away with killing Diggory because everyone would think he had been killed by one of the dangers in the maze. Everyone knows the Tournament is dangerous. But, by killing Moody, he gave himself away for both murders.”

“Voldemort did this! I…I just don’t know how.” Harry tried to defend himself but he didn’t know how to convince his accusers.

Professor Snape finally spoke. “It is true, headmaster, that the Dark Mark that was branded on me when I was a Death Eater has been growing clearer all year. When the Dark Lord touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. A short while ago, it burnt black. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. The Dark Lord may indeed have returned.”

The Minister backed away from Snape. “You’re mad. Insane. You Know Who has not returned.”

Dumbledore spoke slowly. “It may be that Mark overheard you speaking with Karkaroff about the Dark Mark getting stronger, Severus, and decided to use Voldemort as a convenient cover for his actions. We have long worried that Voldemort is gaining power.” He ignored Fudge’s involuntary jerk at hearing the name again. “I believe it to be only a matter of time before he does so. I do not see, however, how Voldemort could have put Mark’s name into the Triwizard Cup. I certainly don’t believe that Moody did so. Nor, do I believe, Mark, that Moody would have tried to kill you. Certainly, not unless he believed you to be a danger.”

Dumbledore held up Harry’s wand for emphasis. “And this wand bears testimony that you performed the Avada Kedavra curse. I have been worried about you for some time, Mark. Worried that you were a follower of the Dark Arts. You have hidden your motives well. There were times when I thought…hoped…I had misjudged you. Hoped that you were a true Gryffindor.”

Harry opened his mouth but no words came out. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it would leap out of his chest. He had watched Voldemort kill Cedric, had been subjected to the Cruciatus curse, been forced to duel with Voldemort, had seen his parents for the first time in his memory, been attacked by his Professor and was now being accused of being a murderer. A roaring sound filled his ears and he felt the corners of his mind start to turn to black.

He muttered, with surprise in his voice, “I think I’m going to faint.” And he did.

Professor McGonagall took a step toward the boy. “That won’t be necessary, Minerva,” said Dumbledore in a harsh voice. “I can move him.” With a flick of his wand, he lifted the boy into the air.

“What will you do with him?” she asked fearfully.

Fudge said forcefully. “He’ll be tried for the murders of Cedric Diggory and Alastor Moody, of course. There’s no way that boy doesn’t end up in Azkaban. For now, he should be sent to the Ministry to be held over for trial.”

Professors McGonagall and Snape looked at Dumbledore to see his response. Slowly, the headmaster nodded his head.

*

It was a solemn group that proceeded to the headmaster’s office. Once there, Professor McGonagall used the Floo Network to accompany the dead body of Alastor Moody to St. Mungo’s. Professor Dumbledore muttered something to Professor Snape that Fudge couldn’t overhear, although the Minister strained his ears trying to eavesdrop. Snape nodded his head in agreement and left the office.

“Where’s he going?” asked Fudge.

“I’ve asked him to do a task for me,” said Dumbledore.

“Yes, but what?” asked Fudge suspiciously.

“I’m afraid that’s between him and me.”

Fudge looked angry at the headmaster’s refusal to be forthcoming. “You’ve asked him to check out whether Voldemort has returned, haven’t you?” he guessed.

“The Mark has grown darker recently,” said Dumbledore, in tacit admission of Fudge’s guess.

“He’s a Death Eater, Albus! How can you trust him?”

“I believe him to be a changed man, Cornelius.”

“Well, You Know Who is not back. You, yourself, said that Twist just used that story to save himself.”

“Just because the boy may have lied about Voldemort’s killing Diggory and Moody doesn’t mean that Voldemort hasn’t returned in truth.”

“That has not happened!” said Fudge. Then, staring at the unconscious boy hovering in mid-air in Dumbledore’s office, he said pensively, “It’s astonishing that a boy so young could be so evil.”

Suddenly, Dumbledore looked tired and old. “He is not the first to be so depraved so young. I had hoped that, by keeping an eye on him, I could prevent him from hurting anyone if it turned out that he was wicked. I will always regret that Cedric and Alastor died because I did not keep close enough watch.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” said Fudge kindly. “I don’t think anyone would have suspected such depravity. Anyway, where he’s going, he won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

He took a handful of Floo powder and cast it into the fireplace. A blaze of green fire flared up and Fudge waved the unconscious Mark Twist into the fireplace to transport him to the Ministry of Magic. The young boy did not wake up during his trip. Hours later, when Harry did finally regain consciousness, he was already in a holding cell at the Ministry.